


monophobia // anthropophobia

by allonsysouffle



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Present Tense, flowery writing for DAYS, idk what to tag this as welp, mentions of domestic abuse, no capital letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:29:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsysouffle/pseuds/allonsysouffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there is an angry boy in new jersey. he acts like he is not scared of anything. that is a lie, obviously- no one is fearless, but he is as close as it gets.<br/><br/>there is a shy boy in new york. he is scared of too much- raised voices and ready fists; too many eyes all staring and wide; the soft tremors hidden in his voice; heights.<br/><br/>they compromise.</p><p>or, how michael and ray got over their fears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	monophobia // anthropophobia

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i know i should probably be working on my other fic but raychael is cute and im trash as hell so i wrote this weird prose-y thing. hope ya enjoy it nerds <3  
> -E

two boys sit in brown grass that crunches under their shoes. one is scared of the eyes of the many. the other is scared of being alone. 

the wind sighs.

 

* * *

 

there is an angry boy in new jersey. he acts like he is not scared of anything. that is a lie, obviously- no one is fearless, but he is as close as it gets. he is reckless, of course, with the entirety of newark as his playground and a pack of smokes at his fingertips. he is a conundrum. he loves the smell of smoke but the taste of tar makes him reel; he has hundreds of rooftop hideouts but still feels safest in his own bedroom; he has a grin as wide as the hudson river but sometimes, he shakes. sometimes, he trembles. sometimes, his voices cracks and splinters and breaks apart from screaming too loud.

he has never felt stable.

 

there is a shy boy in new york. he is scared of too much- raised voices and ready fists; too many eyes all staring and wide; the soft tremors hidden in his voice; heights. no one is careful around him. they are all too tired of hearing about his night terrors. every day he is consumed and swallowed whole by labyrinths of sidewalks and streetlights, grime and neon. brooklyn is the darkness, reaching. manhattan is blindly grasping for his hand. the bronx is a predator. new york is alive. 

he needs to escape its claws.

 

* * *

 

it’s winter in new jersey. the whole world is crystallized and blue and it all lies in wait for the thaw. the angry boy waits for the thaw, too. despite his jacket the cold loves to send shivers down his spine and he is tired of it.

he’s tired of everything these days.

his parents’ faces are growing more creased with worry each day and he can’t help but think it’s his fault. a tiny part of his brain is sorry but a larger part knows he can’t be. who cares, right? who gives a flying fuck? 

his voice is still raw from last night, and the memory of it makes his stomach churn. he pushes his gloved hands deeper into his pockets and tries to forget the fight. he tells himself it didn’t matter. fights happen weekly, in his circle.

he wishes someone was there for him, and it’s a shitty thought because he knows he is being ungrateful. but he still wishes. his hand feels so empty. everything is cold.

he should really get back inside.

 

it’s spring in new york. the shy boy sits in his room, stiller than the dead, and tries to block out the screams of his parents with a pillow that smells of febreze pressed against his ears. he must stay quiet. he can’t afford to make the crumbling apartment any louder than it already is, or else it might just fall apart.

he hasn’t spoken a word in thirty-six hours. weekends are hard.

through the cheap foam filling of the pillow, he can hear the shouting match get louder and louder- and _there's_ the slap. there's the smack of skin against the cracked tile floor. it doesn’t bother him as much as it should. he scares himself, some days.

he sneaks another look at the plane tickets marked for him and his mother hidden underneath his mattress and for once, he feels a swell of hope.

_texas_. every time he thinks of it he can’t help but smile. three months is too long a wait.

he's going to escape.

 

* * *

 

it’s summer in texas. they are both sixteen when they move to a suburb just outside of austin, and one runs there with the desperation of a starving man, while the other is dragged kicking and screaming. both are terrified.

they first see each other through windows. fate is nearly never kind, but she loves to mix things up a little sometimes and so the jones and narvaez families move in across the street from each other. 

they never meet, but catching the other’s eye through the window is oddly easy. they are both intrigued but neither truly wants to put in the effort of caring.

michael is unsure of everything and he misses the rush and pull of newark streets and he hates this suburb and he hates how lonely he is. despite himself he feels scared for the first time in years and he isn’t sure why. it’s a funny feeling, new and foreign and the only thing that makes him smile these days is those far-between moments when he sees the shy boy through the window.

ray really wants to wave at the disgruntled boy with the messy hair. ray also really wants to close the blinds. windows are good for him, though. he can see people without speaking to them. it’s easier. like practice for the inevitable actual contact that may or may not be made at some point. it’s not creepy at all. right?

god, he really needs to go outside at some point.

 

* * *

 

the second time they see each other is in the hallways of their high school.

michael barely recognizes the diminutive boy all bundled in a hoodie, and brushes past him without thinking.

ray is just the tiniest bit offended.

 

* * *

 

they see each other again three storeys up. 

it’s late summer in texas and ray sits on a rooftop, legs hanging over the edge, stiller than the dead. there is something very much like terror pooling in his stomach and he tries to not look down. there are footsteps behind him, footsteps and a tiny noise of confusion.

ray freezes. he didn’t think anyone could find him here.

“you’re that ray kid, right? you live on my street.”

“huh? oh. _oh_. yeah, that’s me. hi.”

an awkward silence follows.

“what, aren’t you gonna ask what my name is?”

“why would i? you’re michael fucking jones. everyone who goes to our school knows you.”

“fair point.”

a pause. there is rustling as michael sits down next to ray, legs swinging in the open air.

“so what are you doing on a rooftop at a house party?”

“i could ask you the same thing.”

“don’t play that game with me. why are you here?”

“scared.”

“of what?”

“i...never mind.”

“i said, _what_ , asshole. answer the damn question.”

a sigh.

“people.”

“huh?”

“i said, i’m scared of people. and, like, talking. and parties. and loud shit.”

“so why’d you come?”

“dunno. bored, i guess. friends dragged me along.”

michael smiles, shark-toothed. “friends? thought you hated people.”

“i don’t _hate_ people. i’m just... scared of them. not my friends, though. they’re cool, i guess.”

he pauses, and the lights in the street below them flicker.

“i don’t know why i’m telling you this. i hate talking usually. this is weird.”

“good weird or bad weird?”

“both?”

“i can dig it.”

they are silent, and it is dark. the music thrumming downstairs makes the floor beneath them tremble and leaves quiet imprints in their eardrums. 

in the darkness, the desperation of adolescence making bass drums of their hearts, they find peace in the sharp smell of spiked punch and tar. 

they do not know why their hearts beat so fast.

 

* * *

 

it’s autumn in texas, in the parking lot of a denny’s at eleven at night. they wound up there somehow, and right now they look at each other terrified, like they are staring into the sun, like they are holding guns to their heads. of course, terror is relative.

because they have just kissed. well, ray has just kissed michael. it was unplanned and rushed and stupid and _oh god_ ray regrets it and _oh god_ michael’s lips were warm and _oh god_ why did he do that-

michael is scared again. of course he is. no one in their right mind wouldn’t be scared after _that_ but fuck, he isn’t unhappy. fear and happiness aren’t mutually exclusive, right? that’s why people like roller coasters. and what a ride that was. wait, why is he giddy? why is his heart thrumming so fast? he should be angry. he should be shouting, like any rational person- 

nah. fuck it. 

ray turns to leave, face on fire, mumbling rushed apologies in a crumbling voice. nothing has ever gone well for him, so why is he surprised? why does michael’s lost expression shock him? he should have known, oh god, he should have known-

there is a hand on his shoulder, and he thinks he knows what’s coming. by the time he realizes no fists have hit his face he opens his eyes, wary and confused. something is wrong here.

michael is _smiling_.

 

* * *

 

it’s winter in texas.

two boys sit in brown grass that crunches under their shoes. one is scared of the eyes of the many. the other is scared of being alone. 

it becomes a reluctant compromise between them- a compromise that turns into a caress that turns into two trembling mouths meeting in a mess of nerves and the taste of salt on their tongues.

they shiver in the moonlight and a familiar terror grips their hearts but they are not alone. there are no eyes on them, either. 

they are not scared anymore.

the wind sighs.


End file.
